Friday, November 26, 2010

With my love he became a god blossoming in the endless nights we spent away from our fellow beasts; a dark god concurrently devouring solar systems and my tiny, nude body that longed for continual fusion with his. Desperately cleaving, strangling like a loving vine. Truculent rituals and sacrifices were necessary to prepare my ugly, wounded heart for this arcane union; painful coalescence that we secreted in the sunless regions inside ourselves to protect and honor it's penumbral beauty. Like all heretics, we were forever fleeing the orthodox who would bind and restrain this sacred thing that was ours alone; to attempt to name it, to map it's boundaries and borders, to restrict something so strange and wild is to extinguish it, to stifle it's rabid virility and reckless frailty that by virtue of it's extreme frailty had to be preserved at all costs. In the car with our hands clasped we drove all night; nocturnal creatures bathing in blessed moonlight. We grew tired and our car crashed but we continued driving, eternally evading our harrowing, hounding pursuers; driving toward something that we achingly longed for, toward a repose that shocks with it's simplicity and gentle, auroral light.

Monday, July 19, 2010

I've longed to understand my otherworldliness. We're all composed of alien material and thus remain incomprehensible. I was tied up and pelted with stones. I was fed only palm fronds and sand but I died to my self a long time before they laid hands on me; and when I so died I saw the terrifying face of the Christ Jesus. Feeling impure and wanting to shed my humanity I made a large incision from my throat to my abdomen and removed my intestines and heart. Still feeling wretched, I castrated myself. I plucked out my eyes and cut off my tongue. This is salvation.

As I was exiting the restroom in Target I noticed a child of 10 or 11 in one of the stalls urinating indiscriminately on the seat, the floor, the walls and even himself a bit. I waited for him to finish so as to observe this absurd, anarchic abandon and when he turned around I was able to get a look into his face. I was struck by the wickedness I found. I was flooded with recollections of holocausts and mass graves; dull, banal evil for the sake of being evil and I was horrified by the wanton and lustful destruction I discovered in his face. I wondered if I should strangle this child or if he might have some obscure, cleansing destiny that was hidden from me (after all, I often feel ripe for extermination and even long for it but you can't force the hands of fate. Deliberating on all this, I decided that the best course of action was to take him to the paper towel dispenser and make him clean up after himself. He resisted at first, wrinkling his hideous little brow and snarling at me but I was firm and insistent so he eventually complied and cleaned his mess with an attitude that was an admixture of surliness and hurt defiance.

Consideration of this incident brings me to an apropos discussion of the terms sterile and fecund and the true meaning of each. To be fecund doesn't just mean that one can produce a child. You can be barren, diseased and ugly internally and be physically able to birth a child, a child whose insides will be full of ash (much like their parents.) I would consider such a human being sterile: incapable of bearing and fostering the pain of love, emotionally crippled phantoms drifting from comfort to comfort, pleasure to pleasure, heart to heart; sleepwalking through a life of meaninglessness trying to outrun themselves, their tiny pain and their fatal need for comprehension; stunted, aborted human habitats who are mutilated and mutilate as they pass through this world. Can we expect a sire such as this to produce anything other than a child whose heart is full of atrocities?

A coward pays for his cowardice very dearly. Example: silence. Not the overwhelming, horrifying and beautiful silence that God is so immensely shrouded in; rather bumbling, stuttering and stammering silence. In other words, knowing exactly what to say.

Friday, June 25, 2010

The Human Habitat in its essence is a parasitical organism (not only physically, which should be readily apparent to even the dullest among us but also and particularly psychically; devouring pleasures and comfort like pigs at a trough, the natural excretion being pain and stupefaction or spiritual deadness) and likely extraterrestrial in its origin, as evidenced by the truly astounding imbalance it displays with its supposed natural environment. Hailing from and returning to distant lands, the human virus destroys and is destroyed without fail, without regard, without prejudice and without distinction. Were the creature not so unflinchingly and banally wicked I believe it would be sympathetic; as it stands the organism in question presents all the features of high comedy: desperate and flailing attempts at attaining meaningless and preposterous ends, longing for light but often unknowingly turning from illumination because it often remains ignorant of it's desire and the key element in any profound comedy...an absurd over seriousness concerning this condition combined with a gross overestimation of its it's own worth.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Rather than giving mundane physical information about this abnormal and quizzical habitat or even my own pilgrimage to said castle I will direct the reader to: www.lovelandcastle.com to garner such information; excepting of course my personal information which is likely (as it should be) of little interest to you or myself. Instead, my discourse will be concerned with the individual versus the collective and the stunning personal achievements of Sir Harry Andrews (which the website above details, if you're interested in the external facts.) Briefly stated, this man essentially built a castle with his own bare hands (with the help of local boy scouts...) To me, he's a representation of something astounding and miraculous; a solitary man who transubstantiated his intimations of otherworldly purity, his numinous stirrings, his longing for divine order and his transcendence of human ability (which is always incommensurate with what an individual is truly capable of) to create something that is at once both deeply personal and full of macrocosmic meaning. The fact that it's been added onto after his death in the most supramundane fashion imaginable (most likely by someone he loved and trusted. Terrestrial love and trust are blindnesses. They necessarily deaden the senses of perception to survive. Conversely, there is mature, lasting love that requires understanding, empathy and a cooperation of the entire human organism and extends beyond the object based terrestrial love to spill into the possible and more importantly into the impossible) is a prime example of how the en massed personality can destroy anything their hands touch. Previously, this caused me deep and abiding anger, but I can no longer help but feel profound sympathy for the sorrowful and tragic condition of modern man that lays waste to both the created and the possibility for creation.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

There's a recondite wickedness hidden in the Louisville suburbs, something personal and insidious that encourages sensations of a terrible, abstruse loneliness in this world. I've felt this awareness many times in my travels and I'm reminded of the Jataka canon, my conciousness warping the intent and making it far more sinister (as my mind often will); wondering if I might have been a deer carved up by degenerate hill children who were interested in the anatomy and suffering of a living and dying organism in some dim and distant past? In other words, the Louisville suburbs are incredible and I highly recommend you visiting; after all there are precious few times when profanity is made flesh.

Driving around Downtown Louisville, you begin to understand you begin to understand why Muhammad Ali was so brazen and steeled. It's a hopeless place, marked by absurd opulence that contrasts with heart breaking poverty and bordered by soulless strip malls. It must have been necessary to develop that attitude to combat the brutal ugliness.

I had dinner at Ramsi's Cafe; a tiny outdoor Egyptian restauraunt. I ordered Kusheri: essentially a pasta dish with lentils, rice, browned onions and garlic. Bravo Ramsi's! I washed it down with a Mint Julep (it's fucking Louisville, champ; even Middle Eastern restauraunts have Mint Julep...)

One thing I truly admire about Louisville is the lack of landscaping. Even in the decadent upper class suburbs the midway was overgrown with waist high weeds, giving the entire town a very dangerous and pagan appearance. 64 (a major highway that passes through Louisville) could have been mistaken for a dark, rolling country highway. Three cheers for the City engineers of Louisville for not making the bitter mistake of sanitizing it's appearance.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

I made the grave error of listening to "A Lover's Prayer" by Otis Redding directly following "Dark End Of The Street" by Percy Sledge. These two tracks in succession were almost too much to bear; particularly the latter (the subtle narrative of two adulterers stealing love echoing primordial pain in some mysterious, forsaken place in my self.) I wonder if Plato would have banned Soul Music in his ideal Republic? Whether I believe he has the responsibility to, or whether I think that making something illegal is a way in which difficult states of being can be banished are not in question, as this is clearly a different topic for a different day. That soul music is fatalistic and profoundly painful can hardly be called into question. Even when it banally expresses the false ecstasies of dance, party and earthly love it remains deeply upsetting. Perhaps it's more so, since false ecstasy is more degenerate than true pain; true pain being transcendental. Nothing false can transcend this life and this earth, it dies with our false body.

Adulterers, liars, thieves, fornicators, murderersThere is no deathThere is no time"

Sons murder fathersWives murder husbandsSlaughter your beastsThrow your children into the seaBrother murder brotherSister blind yourself in the nightSin and redemptionRedemption and sinGuilt and AbsolutionEarthly and everlasting